EpiloguePax
One Year Later
Reunion s*x was the best. Every damn time. Pax had that thought five seconds after Mars came through the door, parking his rolling bag and clarinet case against the wall and tearing his shirt off. He had the same thought a few minutes later, when they were both mostly naked, stretched out on the couch, done laughing about their mutual shriek at how cold the leather felt. Hands everywhere, kissing everywhere, making sounds that weren’t words but that meant “I’m so glad to see you.”
It would be a lie to say neither of them was tempted by anybody else. They’d seen each other every two months, on average. For men who were used to picking somebody up whenever they felt the need, that was pretty damn infrequent. Some FaceTime s*x filled in the gaps. When Pax confess
